To 



Miss Qermaine \[(anney 



A BOGY MAN'S BALLAD 




-^ -^ 50(^7 MAN'S BALLAD 






FOR A MERRY MAID'S FESTIVAL: 
The happy occasion being the eighteenth birthday of Miss Germaine Ranney. 

I. 

BETWEEN thy girlhood and thy womanhood, 
On this dividing day, — 
What shall I sing or say ? 
I know that others wish thee nought but good : 
Yet /, perverse of will, 
Dare wish thee something ill. 

II. 

Nay, start not back ! I mean thee not a wrong ! 

But thou art slight and fair: 

May God for thee prepare 
A little hardship — ^just to make thee strong : 

A little daily load 

Upon an uphill road : 

III. 

A little pull against the wind and stream, 

With oars that bend — not break : 

A little wholesome ache 
In bone and sinew — for I deem 

That oft the body*s pain 

Is to the soul a gain. 

IV. 

I wish thee weariness — to earn thee reSt : 

I wish thee woe — not much — 

Nor of a blanching touch — 
Yet whoso hath no sorrow goes unblest ! 

So what is Youth ? A sigh 

At being born to die ! 

V. 

And what is Life ? A wonder that we live ! — 

For Death is hurrying near, 

Aiming his lifted spear; 
And Father Time — no limping fugitive — 

Is ever on the run 

To get his journey done. 



BOGY man's ballad 



VI. 



So if, in shuddering at the years that flee, 
Thou notice in their flight 
Some suUied wing, not white, 

That goes besmirched into Eternity, — 
Shed thou a tear to-day 
To wash the spot away. 



vn. 

I wish thee self-reproach ! The sting is great, 

But Hke the thorn, it shows 

The vigour of the rose ! 
I wish thee hopes down-dashed ! They indicate 

That if they strike the ground, 

They cannot but rebound ! 



VIII. 

And though thou ask thyself in wonderment 
Why Faith is dying out 
And giving place to Doubt, 

Yet be contented with thy discontent, — 
For Heaven itself conceals 
More stars than it reveals. 



IX. 

Shine if thou wilt in satin and brocade : 

Yet maids of long ago 

Were beautiful, we know. 
Robed in the wool they spun ; for, thus arrayed. 

They queened it in the time 

Ere Poverty was Crime ! 



X. 

The streets are full of clatter. Sit thee down 

And let thy chimney-nook, 

Thy needle, and thy book 
Be more to thee than all the maddening town ! 

— The toil of half an hour 

Rebuilds Aladdin's tower! 



BOGY man's ballad 



XI. 

The household fairies (ere from earth they fled) 

Went to each maiden's room 

And took to her a broom, 
And in her slumber laid it by her bed ! 

— Her broom is still the sign 

That housework is divine ! 



XII. 

A hearthstone asks no impious sacrifice 
Of Youthful joy and mirth ! — 
What would a home be worth 

If purchasable only at the price 
Of every pleasant thing 
Which youth was meant to bring? 



XIII. 

I wish thee fun and frolic ! Go with zest 

To wreak thy heart's desire ! 

Yet first of all inquire 
If what thy longing leads to .... is the best ! 

For be it understood, — 

The Best alone is Good ! 



XIV. 

Keep down thy vanity — keep up thy pride I 
Yet both alike are part 
Of every maiden's heart ! 

So let thy virgin-blush — too pure to hide — 
Be like the altar-flame 
That burns in Vesta's name. 



XV. 

I wish thee boldness never to let slip 
A chance to show thy face 
In any humble place 

Where Mercy's tenderness of finger-tip 
May stroke a burning brow, 
As Charity knows how. 



A BOGY man's ballad 



XVI. - 

And if thy knees bring visions to thy mind, 

And if thy fancy broods 

In high, immortal moods, — 
Waste not the weird occasions ! — (hard to find, 

Yet easy to be lost !) 

— Keep them at any cost ! 

XVII. 

These are my wishes. And to round them up 

Like a papyrus-roll, 

All in a single scroll, 
Or in a thimble, or an acorn-cup, — 

The wish that now I add 

Will hardly make thee glad : 

XVIII. 

My final and most churlish wish for thee, 

And most against thy dreams, 

(Yet kinder than it seems) 
Is simply that thy heart awhile be free, — 

Entangled not as yet 

In any lover's net ! 



THEODORE TILTON. 

Paris, February 19, 1903. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




015 873 157 5 



